Walk A Thousand Miles
by DrayMiaOnly
Summary: "There are moments in your life that shape you; that decide who you're going to be. Sometimes they're small and subtle moments... sometimes they're not." *Dean/Cas* with a side of *Sam/OFC* WIP


**A/N:** (Bare with me...) I've read amazingly well-written fics (and many horrible ones, but that's irrelevant right now) about Destiel -gah, the boys are hot, but the name is lame (hey! that rymmed! :|)- and I've decided to contribute to this great pairing (in my head, prudeness, homophobia and Kripke's fear of losing audience are all dead and they're canon) by offering my little something. Feel free to join me, or get lost, according to your likings -Yes, it is that simple.

Now, about the Sam/OFC part, and just to get things clear, this isn't one of those fics with the amazing hunter, kicking-butts-and-anything-else-on-sight chick/Sister-of-the-Winchesters (personally, I don't even count Adam as a sibling)/Drop-dead gorgeous victim/Seriously-where-have-you-been-all-my-life OFC.

I tried to create a realistic character; which means she has flaws (a lot of them). She's not here to save the boys or the day or WTH (leave that shit for the boys, people; they are professionals), she's not 'gifted' with anything (anything tragically crucial for the plot that is- I have to drag her into the picture somehow), the boys are not gonna fall desperately in love with her the moment they'll see her and they certainly won't fight each other to win her heart (...seriously, where do you come up with these stuff?)

I also have to note that this isn't a PWP fic featuring an OC either. Nothing against them, but this story is not rated M for sex -there's absolutely NONE in here. I'm even skeptical about allowing kisses, since I want your attention to be focused on the cases (the boys will take various gigs through the fic) and the main plot (killing Lucifer and saving the world).

(P.S. this was supposed to be like a couple of sentenses long O.O okay, moving along now...)

**Full Title:** Walk A Thousand Miles (...In My Shoes)  
><strong>Story Details:<strong> AU, set on season 6. Sam escapes Hell _with_ his soul, and reunites with his brother immediately, so Dean never goes to live with Lisa after all and Sam doesn't work with Samuel. The boys return to the road together. The story covers pretty much all 22 episodes, with twists and alternations of the canon events.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> bad language, grafic violence (in later chapters), mentions (thoughts and musings more like it) of Wincest, eventuall slash.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own Supernatural. (What? I have every single episode of all six seasons in DVDs. I swear! :|)

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><p><em>Who are we? Where do we come from? Why are we this way and not some other? What does it mean to be human? Are we capable, if need be, of fundamental change, or do the dead hands of forgotten ancestors impel us in some direction, indiscriminately for good? - Carl Sagan.<em>

_Prologue_: I'm Me; Inside and Out.  
>...<p>

Litchfield, Connecticut

_Rule 1:_ Everything flows; nothing stands still.

The first time her heart broke, she was too young to realize it.

The Mullens owned a 4 bedroom villa in Litchfield, Connecticut. Preceded by an allee of pine trees ending at a koi pond, nearly seven acres of rolling lawns introduced the sprawling clapboard house, its multitude of French panel windows and doors reveling in wondrous vistas across a sparkling pool and pathway bordered by woods that sweeped down to the 50-acre lake. The welcoming foyer revealed a towering dormered living room that rejoiced in the vistas. The master suite boasted a fireplace, spa bath, and views of the pool, lake, and distant hills, romantically capturing the serene spirit of Litchfield County.

Ryan Mullen, the father, was a real estate agent (or, in some states, "real estate broker"); he assisted sellers in marketing their property and selling it for the highest possible price under the best terms. Ryan was righteous, pedantic, loyal to no one and nothing outside his family and he had a liking to always follow the same scheduled routine.

Macey Greene-Mullen, the mother, was a housewife; and one of the best in her neighboorhood at that. She was a lovely, caring, sympathetic woman, with a tendency to make artistic adjustments to the recipes she'd exchange with her neighbors. Macey's meatloaf "muffins" (don't worry, it just means she used muffin tins to bake mini meatloaves) were famous for both their taste and the perk of being on the table in less than 30 minutes.

Nate Mullen, the son, was the apple of his parents eyes. He was 12 years old, a rather enthousiastic football player, who got decent grades (we can't all be good at Math) and was always eager for a sleepover with his friends.

The Mullens were one of the many families foster care had placed the girl in.

She had resisted at first; she didn't want to get to know them, or -worse- bond with them, because she knew she'd have to leave once the summer was over.

But Nate was sweet and funny, and he wanted to teach her how to play football and take her camping and show her how to light a fire from just two pieces of wood.

And Ryan was kind, even though he was a bit strict too. And every day, during lanch, he would ask how their day had been so far. And once Nate and Macey would finish the retelling of their chores and little adventures, Ryan would turn to her and ask "And what did you do today, kiddo?"

And Macey was tender and up-beat, and she would tuck her into bed every single night, with a kiss on her forehead and a story about princesses, or bunnies, or flowers and rainbows.

And everything had seemed like a fairytale for a little while.

But, the problem with fairytales was that they weren't _real_.

The summer ended, and the girl still hoped that maybe, just maybe, the Mullens would ask her to stay a little bit longer.

But, like the other foster families before them, they didn't.

The girl couldn't blame them; the Mullens had made an impact on her, but she had just been another child for them. She was nothing special, after all, she knew that; she was plain -boring even.

And so, she said her goodbyes quietly -no need to make a fuss about taking her away from something that hadn't been hers to begin with- and she left, holding no hard feeling whatsoever.

...

"This is my best friend!" The girl announced to no one in particular, fixing her eyes on the rounded pebble she held in her hand so hard they began to water.

She wanted to burst out laughing, for taking a saying so literarely, because it was just so damn funny; that someone once was wise enough to predict such a moment and create said saying. It was freakin' hilarious.

Except it wasn't; not really.

In another life, perhaps at a paralell universe, she was surrounded with warmth and family and her only companionship was not an object.

Instead, the world was gray, fairy tales and nightmares and monsters were real, and hope was dead.

She was alone.

"My only friend," she murmured, as the flood inside her redrimmed eyes started to slide down her cheeks, "but, that's all I need," she reasoned, believing her words with every fibre of her being.

Rocks? Rocks were good for you. Hard and steady and unchangeable and always where you left them.

Rocks wouldn't betray you, they wouldn't abandon you, they wouldn't sent you away, they wouldn't hurt you.

She was quite possitive she was going mad. But that was fine; her rock would still be supportive.

For someone who never really had anything, a rock was more than enough.

...

_10 years later..._

Hope, Arkansas

The day she met _him_ was like any other. The sun shined just as bright, the world didn't stop and there were no sparks whatsoever. At least not until she looked up at the weird-looking figure that had entered the ally. Her first thought was "He's not from around here," as a man with a five o clock shadow, hair that looked like he had just rolled out of bed and wearing a trench coat -in the middle of July- walked hesitantly towards her.

It took him days to cross the entire ally (approximetly about 30 feet long). No. She wasn't exsasperating. The first day, he had looked at her from afar, and she had stared back at him, but at some point she must had blinked and he had disappeared. The second day, he had come a little closer, openly staring at her, an eerie mist of curiocity on his face. Then, the thrird day he had come a little closer, and the day after that closer than the last time, and so on and so forth, until one day... she found him standing right in front of her.

She remembers how she had froze momentarily, unsure of whether or not to run away from him. If you asked her why she hadn't, she'd say she had been petrified -no, really, she couldn't move. Not an inch.

When their eyes met, all she could think about were those bright baby-blue eyes that seemed to shine with hidden hope, even as they were darkened by ghosts only he could see.

"Hello, Bethany," a gruff, resonant voice said to her.

Then, she figured she had fainted. Even though the norm said that, when one gets knocked out, everything went dark -not _bright_.

When she awoke, probably a few minutes later, she awoke to find out she was still standing on her own two feet, a feeling that she had just seen the most beautiful dream making her heart swell with warmth.

Recomposing herself, and remembering the unexpectant visitor, her heart skipped a beat and her gut clenched and she closed her eyes tightly, fearing that it had all been a trick; that the past few seconds had been just some elaborated hallucination created by her own mind, to protect herself from an alternative -horrible- experience.

She had prepared herself to accept the notion that she had in fact died, (probably a violent and paiful death in the hands of the unknown psycho with the baby-blues and the awful thrench coat,) when she heard someone clearing their throat. She looked around and spotted the beige autrocity calmly staring at her, not many feet away from her left side.

Her pulse skyrocketed to settle on a rapid cresento, as she saw the not-quite-there smile that now adorned his face.

She had only just decided that she was going to scream and run for the hills after all, but she had no chance to act on her brain's directions, as the man cautiously raised his arm, two fingers firmly pointing straight, and touched the middle of her forehead.

This time, everything did go dark.

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><p><strong>AN:** And the prologue is up! Ignore the rules at the beginning of every chapter for now; you'll figure out what's that all about in later chapters... Other than that, tell me if you liked (...and point out any mistakes I didn't catch, okay?)


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